


The Agent Carter Adventure Hour

by cat_77



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Canon-Typical Misogyny, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-01
Updated: 2015-02-01
Packaged: 2018-03-10 02:01:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3272675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cat_77/pseuds/cat_77
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He knew the cheesy radio program was a poor approximation of the real thing.  He was starting to see just what a crap job they had done on one character in particular.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Agent Carter Adventure Hour

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write a Carter and Sousa as bros fic. This didn't quite turn out that way, so maybe more like a Sousa seeing that he and Carter could be bros fic instead?
> 
> * * *

Truth be told, this is not how he had expected to spend his evening. Then again, the last time he had planned on an quiet time of reviewing boring paperwork, he ended up getting a call that solved one case, opened another, and cost them the life of a fellow agent. Needless to say, none of them had really fully let their guard down since then.

That's what made the night all the more unusual. Carter and Carlisle were still in the office with him, Carlisle because he had been assigned the late shift along with Sousa himself and Carter because who knew who set the woman's hours at this point the way she seemed to always be there save for the times there was no hide nor hair of her. Sammy had picked up sandwiches for them all, even a reluctant Peggy, and they were chowing away while digging through files old enough to have gathered a layer of dust to tickle his nose. The ridiculous Captain America radio program played on in the background, and he couldn't help but chuckle at the way Carter rolled her eyes every time the supposed love interest got herself in a bind again.

Next thing he knew, lights were flashing red, alarms were blaring, and the supposedly secret entrance was blown inward, the force of the explosion shattering glass and wood alike. Peggy and Sammy were armed before he could blink, his own weapon safely in hand sooner rather than later. Shots were fired and punches were thrown as soon as anyone got near enough. Thankfully, the intruders weren't as good at aiming as they were blowing things to bits as one bullet whizzed by his head at a safe distance while another barely grazed his shoulder.

It was enough to throw off his balance though, already a tenuous thing on a good day. Mix that with the force of another impact on his prosthetic and he wavered good and true. Sammy caught him though, and righted him so he could line up another shot. Sammy then hit the deck when his own flesh and blood was hit. Didn't stop him from taking a few shots, nor did it stop him from rolling behind the cover of his desk to take a few more. Daniel saw the good grace in that and lowered himself to use his own usual work area as a shield of sorts.

He spared a glance to Sammy and got a thumbs up and a nod for his trouble. He then spared a glance to Peggy hoping she too was safely tucked away. She was, kind of. Half of her was behind her desk and half of her was still vulnerable as she took shot after shot, having had at least the smarts to grab Mulroney's spare gun from his drawer as back up. From the grunts and curses and various thuds he heard coming from the other side of him, she was making her mark more often than missing it, and that was damned impressive and not just for a dame. Made him believe that the stories told about her during the war were more than stories - something he already suspected, but now he had the evidence to back it up.

He finally got a decent look at just who was bold enough to attack the SSR outright, and was disappointed at the generics. Average sized men in boring gray suits, hair slicked back nicely in near identical styles beneath the fedoras they wore. It was something out of a pulp novel, really - not that he read those things but he had caught his cousin with one once and got enough of a feel for the genre to try not to laugh at how over the top it tended to be.

One of those average men got in under his guard and the toe of his boring black shoe dug deep and with greater force than strictly necessary into Sousa's ribcage after knocking his weapon a good yard or so away. Daniel looked up to see a barrel leveled at him and figured at least they would say he went down fighting. 

Only he didn't go down at all because there was Carter, barreling the man over despite her skirt and heels and smaller form. She punched like an Army grunt and wasn't afraid to kick or bite either, though she spit to the side afterward to get the taste of whatever she had come in contact with out of her mouth. He saw that part though because she had succeeded. She had knocked the man down, stolen his weapon, and shot him in a relatively non-vital part that would cost him, but should leave him alive enough for questioning. Another man tried to knock her over and she didn't grant him such a gift after kicking him off, hitting him both in the stomach and the neck from where she lay a good distance away on her side.

With Sammy's help, and Daniel's when he managed to both get his gun back and get somewhat upright again, they took down another three, though at least two ran off before they could catch them. It was then and only then that he found Carter crouched down next to him, wobbly on the same heels she had used for kicking such a short time ago, stolen gun still in hand, trying to check on him. It was then and only then that he caught sight of the deep red blooming across her pretty silk blouse and the smear of what was definitely not lipstick across her lips.

"Peg?" he asked, concerned.

She waved off that concern as though she didn't have time for it. "It's nothing," she insisted. "I've had worse. How's the arm?"

Sousa shook his head, but it was Sammy who spoke first. "He didn't ask if you had worse, Carter," he pointed out. "We're a little more concerned about the now versus the war stories you're going to tell us over drinks once we're patched up."

"Most of those stories are still classified," she said primly, but with enough of a smile to take the bite out of her words.

The medics came as did fellow agents, frantic from the idea of the attack mixed with their lack of sleep. They took Carter to the Chief's office to give her some semblance of privacy given the location of her wound, but Sousa caught sight of it anyway when he knocked on the door to check on her about an hour later. 

He also caught sight of more than he should. The scars spoke of bullet wounds, the type medals should have been given out for side by side with respect and honor as what was right and proper and not disparaging comments and filing duty. Bruises and scratches older than just from that night hinted at the freelance work he long suspected her of doing as well, but the fact she came in healthy if not hale and did the work assigned to her meant he was keeping quiet on those and would agree the attackers roughed her up if asked. The fact she had saved his life just mere hours ago played a roll in that as well, but he was busy pushing his own fears of that off for now and would admit her roll when he admitted his own. Possibly over a bottle of something Scottish down at Alex's favorite hole in the wall and possibly in a few days time.

Depositions were given and more would be taken to verify what was seen versus what was found as physical evidence but, for now, the three agents were to go home and put their feet up and were even granted the next day off, if any chose to take it. Sousa was tempted to stay for the interrogation of the few men who lived and no one would fault him for hanging around. Hell, they might even leave the door unlocked and the guy chained to the table for him to sneak in and have some fun with if he hinted an interest in such a thing. But those men he knew were taken care of, those men he knew were not about to be swept under the carpet as unimportant. 

Those men were not going to be left alone to their own devices and possible nightmares, at least not for a while. The men and women at the switchboards that provided cover for the agents, the men and woman covered in the blood and gore of their friends even as their hands were covered in gun powder residue from doing their damnedest to try to protect them, they were another story all together. He made a point of finding out all of their names, of adding them to his own silent memorial even though he knew there'd be a far more official one before the week's end.

Chief Dooley offered a company car to take them home and Yauch offered to drive. Actually, Yauch, Davis, McKinney, and Alvarez all offered to drive. Davis and McKinney also offered to set up surveillance of Sousa's place as well as Carter's given that Carlisle lived atop the bakery just across the street and such a thing would be redundant. They argued the thugs knew to attack the office, so who was to say they didn't know who worked there and where they lived already. It was a good argument, good enough for Dooley to assign a watch for the next few days in the least, even if Sousa really didn't need his fellow agents wasting their time on him when there was obviously much bigger fish to fry.

They stopped at Carter's place first, some fancy place for upstanding unmarried women. Peggy insisted she was fine despite the fact she nearly fell back into the car the first time she tried getting out on her own. McKinney wanted to walk her in and Peg refused. She wasted time arguing with him though, which gave Sousa himself a chance to get out, get to his feet, and offer her an arm. "Shall we?" he asked as though ending a pleasant night about the town.

"Yes, please, because showing up after curfew with not one but two men at my side should really send Mrs. Fry through the roof," she huffed. She blew a stray hair out of her face and Daniel was struck by how much worse the slice to her lip looked now that her makeup had been wiped away.

"You're injured," Mike pointed out. Carter responded to that by buttoning her coat and hiding nearly all of the dried blood her shirt had acquired. She tucked her hair back into place and looked at him as though daring him to say that again. Either she hadn't noticed the lip, or didn't think it looked as bad as it did. Ignoring that, even they were forced to admit she looked like a relatively normal woman coming home after a long day at the office. The only problem was, they all knew the day, and the night that had followed, was anything but normal this time out.

"At least grant us the peace of mind that you got home safely," Sousa tried. And if he made sure to wince as he settled his weight on his good leg to play up the pity part, that was no one's business but his own.

Peggy rolled her eyes, undoubtedly seeing right though his ploy. "Fine," she relented. "But you lot have to deal with Mrs. Fry."

It turned out Mrs. Fry was a non-entity. Oh, there was an older woman fuming and frowning off to the side, making a point to look at her watch and then pointedly at the door, but there was a rush of no less than five girls who swarmed the trio and surrounded them. There were hands patting Carter down in a way no man would dare and unpinning her hat trying to take her bag and Daniel now understood why she had switched her freshly reloaded gun to her purse in the car on the ride over.

"We heard it on the radio!" a smaller thing in a waitress uniform announced. "They even interrupted that horrible show to say there was an explosion at the phone company!"

"I heard it was a bomb - I thought the war was over, that we were done with this ridiculousness!" one woman exclaimed. There seemed to be a general murmur of agreement, as well as a hell of a lot of words all at once, enough so that Sousa wondered if he had hit his head on the way down the way it currently hurt.

The first woman got to the heart of it though, speaking over them all to say, "Oh, Mrs. Fry, you can't fault her for breaking curfew, can you? An attack like this? And she's clearly injured? Can't you please make an exception, just this once?"

The small and extremely angry looking woman stepped forward and the women seemed to part like a veritable sea. She looked Carter up and down appraisingly, taking in the lip and the slouch and the way she tried to shift her stance and ended up flinching instead. "I am not heartless," the woman insisted. "An allowance for terrorism can and must be made in these trying times. Ms. Carter shall not be evicted for falling victim to the darkness this world still holds."

The gathered women appeared to collectively release a breath. They then appeared to bodily try to remove Carter from the area, clearly heading for the stairs and Sousa didn't want to think how uncomfortable that was about to be even as he wondered how Mike and he were to follow. He didn't really have to think much at all because a blonde accidentally elbowed him and he stumbled slightly, righting himself on his crutch before any embarrassing situation could unfold even if McKinney narrowed his eyes knowingly.

"Daniel?" Peggy asked, somehow breaking free from her horde.

The woman who was most likely Mrs. Fry snapped her fingers and motioned to a chair, which was slid near enough to him for him to plop down in, whether he wanted to or not and yes, he was going to glare at Mike for the push. "You were clearly caught up in the explosion as well, sir," Mrs. Fry said knowingly. "You may sit and rest until you regain your strength to make it home tonight. Marie, however, can pack her bags as I saw you sneak in after them and know you work on the other side of town and have no excuses."

Mike shared a look with him but wisely kept quiet. They accepted the promise of tea even though he craved something far stronger. Peggy looked at him pityingly even while the horde began the ascent up the stairs again, the waitress promising, "I have rhubarb pie for you, hon, complete with all the accoutrements. And I mean all."

Daniel and Mike sipped some actually decent tea and silently plotted out the best places to stake out the place while Peggy disappeared up towards wherever it was she actually lived. Neither of them were welcome to take her there themselves, not even to see to her care, but she apparently had enough others to do so so at least she wasn't going to be alone that or any other night despite his original fears. Rules were rules and Mrs. Fry was willing to bend one but in no way break another. He doubted she would even if she had fully known just who she was dealing with. He didn't know whether to respect her integrity or fear it, but decided honoring it was the best he could do in the given situation.

They said their thanks and McKinney left to go start the car, leaving Sousa to have some semblance of dignity by getting there on his own. His arm ached and his leg ached and his head hurt enough that he was fairly certain it was more than just the women bothering it. His suit was smeared with dust and dirt but thankfully the blood on his shirt and the bandage beneath it was hidden by his jacket. He needed sleep and, even though he was sorely tempted to make his way back to the office come morning, had to admit he was unlikely to make it there until at least noon.

It was as he stepped out of the door and into the shadows of the overhang that he caught sight of a car far nicer than most in the neighborhood. He wished he was surprised to see one Mr. Edwin Jarvis cross the street with box in his hands, but he really was not, not after the night he had. 

"You have no concept of a low profile, do you?" he sighed, giving into the urge to rub at his forehead. Mike hadn't caught sight of him yet, so at least there was that.

"I work for Mr. Stark," was the reply he received, which was an answer in and of itself. "He worked closely with Ag- Ms. Carter during the war and heard there was a likelihood she was present during the unfortunate incident this evening. He wished for me to verify her safety."

Daniel eyed the box with the small sprig of flowers poking out the top. "There's more than petunias in that thing, isn't there?" he guessed.

"A flask of port and a pearl handled pistol designed by Mr. Stark himself," Jarvis verified without shame. "Tucked beneath a thin box of biscuits to get past Mrs. Fry's defenses, of course," he added with the slightest upturn of his lips.

"Peggy did more than just file during the war, didn't she?" Daniel asked before he could stop himself.

"I dare say she does more now," Jarvis replied with a sniff. Then, with what Sousa expected was a rare lowering of the facade, he asked, "She is alright, isn't she? The reports on the news, the smoke still surrounding the place..."

"She claims she's had worse," he answered with a shrug, the bandage pulling at the action.

"That's not what I asked," Jarvis said, but did not seem surprised in the least by the answer.

Sousa snorted. "You know, we said the same damn thing," he agreed. He nodded once and left the shadows for the comfort of the waiting car before McKinney got suspicious. He silently wished the man luck getting his goods past the ever vigilant Mrs. Fry. He also silently wished Carter luck in whatever game it was she was playing. 

He knew she was one of the good guys, and not just because she saved his life. He also knew the good guys rarely if ever reaped the rewards they deserved. Maybe Carter would prove to be the exception. Then again, the ways the guys had already been touting him and Carlisle as the heroes of the night with nary a word of her input, maybe not.

The world was changing, some for the better and some for the worse. They needed something more though, a force of sorts, something even more powerful than all the bobs and bangles the SSR had going for it, to deal with that change and hopefully guide it towards being of the better and not of the worse. Given that the world in question wasn't even ready to acknowledge everyone who was helping make that change based upon some preconceived notions of who was worthy and who was not, let alone admit those they deemed unworthy could possibly guide them towards that better future? Yeah, he wasn't holding his breath on that one. 

He was, however, raising a glass of something far stronger than tea in the general direction of a certain home for upstanding and unmarried women that night. It was the least he could do.

 

End.


End file.
